Not Another Date
by Sherlockfan12
Summary: Sherlock is jealous of John's girlfriends, though he's not exactly admitting it to himself. Meanwhile John has finally given up on ever having a date without his meddling Sherlock-shadow tagging along. Slash, Johnlock fluff


**Author's Note:** _Another of my 'how John and Sherlock get together' ideas, a short variation on the first chapter of a longer series I'm working on. See further note at the bottom._

_-Obligatory Disclaimer -_

_These characters belong to the BBC show writers Moffat and Gatiss. This is just fanfiction, no profits made, blah blah blah. And my apologies for any fangirlish butcherings which have no doubt occurred herein._

* * *

**Not Another Date**

"Where are you going?" Sherlock demanded as John pulled on his jacket.

"I've got a date."

"Oh" Sherlock rolled his eyes. Not another one. It was annoying how stupid and mundane John could be sometimes.

"No thanks to you!" John added as he shut the door.

He grimaced as John's footsteps retreated down the stairs. He had fallen into a habit of interfering with John's dates, spying on him, just happening to show up, texting him incessantly, finding reasons to pull him away, saying things that sent prospective women off in tears or disgust. He just couldn't stand the thought of John stupidly flirting like that. He'd been pleased that in spite of their row last time, John had not obstinately stayed out all night as he'd expected. And even more promisingly, he hadn't gone on any more dates since that time. Sherlock thought perhaps he'd finally seen reason, so today's relapse especially irritated him. Why ever did he waste his time with these women? It seemed so boring. Hardly something to excite the daring John Watson.

He paced to the window to stare down imperiously at him while he waited for a cab. It really irked him when John insisted on these dates. Why did it bother him so much? he wondered. He should leave him to his folly. But he respected John in many ways, so watching him make a fool of himself over something as stupid as a woman's affection was, in a way, a blow to his own pride. The wind ruffled John's hair as he pulled his jacket closer around him. An unrecognized trace of thought wished to wrap his own much warmer coat around the small figure who meant so much to him. _Fool._ He thought, and it was not entirely directed towards John, although he hadn't any idea he was saying it to himself as well.

The most obnoxious thing about it all, perhaps, was John's willful blindness to the facts. It was obvious that he cared more about Sherlock than any of these random women he threw himself at, so why he would waste his time and attention on them made no sense. He couldn't fathom why John felt the need to cultivate the good opinion of some petty woman who would batt her eyes any anything male when he already had the good opinion of himself, the person who actually mattered to him and therefore whose approval logically mattered far more. Of course it had never made much sense to him why people tried to impress each other and find other people to, what was the term? 'Hang out with.' _ What a lot of bother and tedium._ Their supposed desire for romance was particularly disgusting. It was hard to imagine how a love for action and a love for simpering mush could reside in the same mind. What could possibly be the point of these ridiculous dates? Usually the ultimate idea was, of course, to find someone to attach oneself to, but it seemed so obvious that John already had the adventure and amenities he sought in life, not to mention far more interesting companionship, here with Sherlock, that continuing to seek it elsewhere seemed remarkably senseless. Sherlock needed reliable back up and help with all the legwork associated with his investigations, which very service provided John with the action and risk he needed to stay sane in this mundane and boring life. What arrangement could possibly be more beneficial or agreeable? Was it possible John hadn't paused to consider the fact that if he succeeded in attaching himself to some female it would lead to giving up the life he now enjoyed at Baker Street, and in all likelihood the loss of the action he so craved. What wife would ever stand for him dashing off to put his life on the line? _Really, John, have you no foresight?_

Part of John's motivation was obviously blind traditionalism. He'd said it himself. "That's just what people do. They go on dates. They try to find a romantic partner to settle down with, …or at least to have sex with." John had been flabbergasted when he'd rolled his eyes and asked why on earth people were so keen on sex, and furthermore if that was their ultimate goal why they wasted their money on dinner and their time on pointless games and pleasantries instead of just getting to the point. He'd replied that people liked making emotional connections with each other, but Sherlock couldn't really understand the appeal of that. It seemed like it just caused a lot of unnecessary inner turmoil as people worried about how others felt about them and sorted out how they felt about them in return. What did those feelings matter anyway? They seemed to be so changeable and based on irrelevant criteria, like having 'nice eyes' or some such nonsense. None of it made any sense! Not like his relationship with John, which made perfect sense. They got along remarkably well, they put up with each other's habits and quirks, they both contributed to the other's life something of use. _Why couldn't John just be sensible!?_

He watched the cab grimly till it turned the corner, then flopped into a chair. _Bored_. He stared at the skull which sat across from him on a pile of books and newspapers.

Instantly he was on his feet again, throwing on some clothes and grabbing his coat. He flew down the stairs three at a time, leaping the last four entirely and bursting out the front door. He knew exactly where John would take this what's-her-name tonight and for lack of anything better to do he was going to tail him yet again.

John had left open a tab on his laptop with information about some new movie which Sherlock had spied earlier that day. Knowing John to be frugal, and noting the coincidence of the times listed and the time John had left, it was obvious he'd bought tickets for a matinee, most likely with plans for dinner afterwards. So it was to the cinema that Sherlock directed the cab driver, and was rewarded with the sight of the back of John's head shortly after stepping onto the curb. He ducked behind one of the large pillars ringing the entry way and surreptitiously took in the doors. It struck him as a little odd that John has selected an action film, but he figured he must be intending to use the scary parts as an excuse to comfort his date. At least it would be slightly less annoying for himself to sit through it while spying on them. The signs above showed the theatre under that title for this hour was sold out. Not to be daunted, he dashed round to the side of the building and found there was indeed a back exit leading more conveniently to the car park without having to filter through the incoming traffic of the front doors. If only he'd had a cigarette handy as an excuse to be hanging around, but he didn't have to wait long before people from the previous showing came meandering out and he was able to slip inside. He didn't even have to claim he'd left something. He smirked at the pathetic security measures. Pulling off his coat as he wandered down the corridor, he soon located the correct theatre. Once the sweepers had finished cleaning up, he snuck in before anyone had been let through the front, and found himself a very convenient dark nook from which he might observe John and his date as they came in.

He was surprised to see that there was no one hanging on John's arm as expected, but then he remembered that women had a habit of visiting the lavatory frequently and concluded she must have run off to fix her hair, etc. while John got their seats. John did indeed appear to have an oversized popcorn in hand and placed his jacket on the seat next to him as he sat down. Sherlock took the moment that his back was turned to slip down the isle into the seat directly behind John in the row above. It struck him that John looked tense. Was he concerned about his date? He wasn't glancing at the entry ramp as would be expected. Was there something off between them and he wasn't looking forward her return? Suddenly John stood up again and then turned around climbing onto his seat to look Sherlock directly in the eye. Sherlock was stunned.

"So." John said, steepling his fingers in Sherlock's manner to glare over the top of them.

Sherlock opened his mouth and stared in horror at being caught, completely unable to improvise some excuse under John's penetrating gaze. John knew him too well. But, a strange expression began to twitch at John's face and after a moment Sherlock realized it was amusement. John was relishing his complete loss of words.

"Are you going to sit next to me?" It wasn't sarcastic.

"What?"

"If you're going to insist on coming on dates with me, Sherlock, then I'm going to insist you _act_ like my date."

"What?"

"You're going to sit here." He pointed to the seat beside him. "You're going to put up the arm rest." He did so. "You're going to put your arm around my shoulder." He jerked his head at Sherlock as command to _get down here, now!_ which he found himself helplessly obeying, climbing awkwardly over the seat-back while John seized his arm. "You're going to share my damn popcorn even if you're not hungry." John glared at him, rattling the large container he'd deposited in the holder on the other side of him. "You're going to take me to dinner afterwards." He said leaning in and not blinking. "And if you don't kiss me tonight Sherlock Holmes, so help me I will kiss you in front of Anderson, Donovan, and Lestrad on our next case."

Sherlock gaped at him.

"Problem?"

Sherlock felt his face turn white and then red, swallowed awkwardly, found himself licking his lips still lost for words, while a wave of goosebumps ran over him, and finally managed tiny shake of his head.

"Good." John replied turning to face the screen and settling back against Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock felt like he couldn't breath. He didn't do affection. He wasn't used to having people in his personal space. He couldn't seem to make a connection between his brain and his body in order to even move, so he sat, frozen. But damn if it didn't feel good, John's head against his cheek, John's body pressed against his side, John's authoritative tone echoing in his mind with his romantic threats. _Kiss him? Kiss John? _Had John really decided to stop looking elsewhere? Was he really asking Sherlock to fulfill that final requirement he'd been seeking from women? Could he do it? He wanted to keep John by his side so badly, he would have to try.

"Relax!" John glanced up at him, grabbing his hand to pull his arm closer around him and then not letting go of it. Sherlock caught sight of a self-satisfied smile on John's face as he settled in.

He'd actually tricked him, Sherlock realized with an inward leap of his heart. He always saw through people, but this time John had tricked him into following him. It was a clever invitation, much more subtle than his typical awkward attempts to ask ladies out. He found that he felt almost smug with his arm around John, thinking that it was himself, and no one else, that John had chosen to be with this evening.

He also now realized that his own motivation in following him certainly hadn't been 'innocent' research of John's dating habits, trying to save him from his folly, or sheer boredom. He felt stupid for being so jealous, for coming up with an excuse to do what he'd actually _wanted_ to do all along but hadn't let himself admit. He couldn't argue with the results, however. As startling as this turn of events was, he very much liked the idea that John might finally be his exclusively.

Experimentally he turned in his seat slightly to make John more comfortable and let his nose and mouth rest amid John's hair. Breathlessly he reached his free hand over to tentatively touch John's other hand, which was resting on his own leg, letting his fingers slide between John's. He felt a peculiar pang in his stomach. So this was what John really wanted? He hated himself for thinking it, but perhaps he'd been wanting this too, all along. As they sat in silence his body gradually relaxed into the comfort of this position.

The movie seemed promising enough at the start, although he kept feeling distracted by the presence of John so near to himself. He glanced around briefly but couldn't see if anyone else was similarly engaged. That meant they must also be relatively inconspicuous here in the dark, which was a relief. John absently stroked his fingers, and from time to time turned away from the screen to lean closer or glance at him when he thought Sherlock wasn't looking. He drank in the scent of John's hair, and allowed himself to relish the weight and warmth of his body now melded with his own. Perhaps there was some merit to cuddling, however unnecessary it was.

He flinched as John's fingers, holding three bits of popcorn, came right up under his nose. Awkwardly he opened his mouth and took them, his lips touching John's fingers as he did so. Before John could reach back into the popcorn Sherlock grabbed his hand and held it to his mouth for a moment. Surprised at the nonsense which seized him, he nevertheless found himself licking the salty butter from John's fingers. Then, he reached his arm around to squeeze John in both his arms possessively. He's mine, he realized. _He's not trying to belong to anyone else but me now._ That was indeed a very satisfying notion.

When it seemed they had come to a slow part of the movie, he looked down at John again, who turned to look up at him as he sensed him shift. The stared at each other a moment in the dim blue light and then he summoned his determination and tried it. He leaned closer and tasted John's breath as their lips bushed, but there he paused, uncertain how to proceed. Technically, he knew how people kissed, but he couldn't remember anything at the moment. He just wanted John to be pleased, even though he didn't know how to make him so. John leaned in and closed the gap, and their faces seemed to melt together. _Comfort. It was so comforting. Did he really like comforting so much?_ He leaned in. _It seemed he did._ John's fingers grasped the front of his shirt pulling him closer still, not letting him back away too soon, and then his hand came up to stroke Sherlock's face, his fingers tangling in the hair at the back of Sherlock's neck, which he found his own hand doing to John. John pressed him fervently to himself, their faces crushed together almost uncomfortably for a moment. As John's grip relaxed it seemed they were not done yet, as he had for a second supposed, for John's lips did not leave his as he drew in a deep breath. He realized his eyes had closed as his focus shifted to the sensation of his lips, and now John gently pressed his against Sherlock's several times, coaxingly. He still didn't know what he was doing; he leaned in so as not to discourage him, but this certainly wasn't his area. Heedless of the movie now, he found that John was fondling his lips with his own, brushing, sliding over them smoothly, slipping between them, nibbling, his tongue softly reaching out to touch Sherlock's wooden mouth so delicately. He felt so stupid and inept, but he could hardly think of that when these new sensations felt so. . . so very surprisingly good. Gradually his lips relaxed as John tugged at his lower lip, making him open his mouth. Unconsciously he began to copy John, letting out a low "mmmmmm." _This was so weird. This action made no sense, except he felt he needed this. He wanted this. He needed John, as close to himself as he could get him._ He adjusted in his seat to draw John closer into his arms, their faces turning to fit together even better now, their mouths hungry for each other.

An explosion shook the air around them as the movie continued but John merely pressed further against him, reaching his tongue deep into Sherlock's mouth. Apparently the point of this outing was not actually to see the movie, but to be close like this. _ Okay, hang the movie then._ He gave himself up completely to this new pleasure, blindly stroking and grasping and sucking at John whose importance to him seemed to have become all consuming. In the flashes of light he felt startlingly exposed, yet it was unlikely that anyone was actually looking at them, and he made himself ignore all his self-conscious condemning thoughts and let John teach him how to kiss. Somehow, John didn't make him feel stupid for his ignorance. He sensed only John's adoration and desire.

By the end of the movie it seemed he had come into his own in this new field and John was jelly in his arms. They were tangled up together across their two seats in which they remained contentedly snogging as the credits rolled and people inched past them on their way out. After being bumped a few too many times, they unfolded themselves and John nudged him to get up and make way in the isle, shuffling right behind him till they reached the end where they backed against the wall out of the way of everyone filing towards the exit. In the silvery light they stared at each other, almost in shock. They both realized they may have been just a little obnoxious there at the end, but it had been sooo good after their long denial.

"John. . . thank you. . . I'm sorry. . . I. . ." He struggled for words.

John's face wore a surprised smile. He shook his head in wonderment, kissed him again, pressed their foreheads together. "Sherlock, I want you to be my date, every time. Will you?"

"You want me to be your boyfriend?" he clarified.

John nodded looking at him steadily.

"I'll be terrible." He warned.

"Yes. I know." He laughed, nodding again. "But you want to?" he searched his face hopefully.

All Sherlock could do was nod and wrap his arms around him. John hugged him back. As they stood there together, John spoke quietly into his neck.

"Sherlock, last time, when you didn't come and interrupt me or find some pretext to drag me away I realized, I was disappointed. I found I was thinking of you as she talked to me, and when she invited me up to her flat all I wanted to do was get home to see you, laying on the couch as usual. The more I thought about it on the way home, the more I realized I wanted you to be waiting for me. I wanted you to be watching for me. I wanted you to be so glad I was home that you would throw your arms around me as I walked in the door." He laughed at that impossible fantasy, "I wanted you to forgive me for all those times I'd gone without you or yelled at you for following me. But I didn't know how to tell you all those things. I was afraid it would just put you off." Sherlock sniffed, and nodded: it was true. He hadn't been ready to admit his feelings until that moment today when John had snuggled against him and it had felt so inexplicably satisfying.

"Forgive me too." He muttered.

John chuckled, "No. Thank you for not leaving me to my folly." He looked up at him and their lips met briefly once more.

"Angelo's?" Sherlock cocked his brow inquiringly. John blushed and grinned.

As the last people passed them they parted and Sherlock took John's hand in his as they walked out.

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Additional Author's note: So apparently I write fan-fiction on my own fanfiction. Pathetic no? I swear this is not how this scene is going to go. This started out as the beginning to a longer fiction which I hope eventually to finish, but it has since been derailed and reworked because all of a sudden John just stood up and started improvising. :P

"John sit back down and wait for what's-her-name." -me

"But he's an idiot and I love him to bits and I don't want to waste time with what's-her-name."-J

"Oh yes you do. Right now you do anyways. Channeling your future self is forbidden." -me

"It's not my future self, it's my currently repressed self."-J

"Yes, well same difference. You'll get plenty of cuddle time later." -me

*Pouts* -J

"But I liked that first kiss." -S *pouts* too

"Well you can't have it. There's another one in store for you." -me

"I know, I saw. I don't like it." -S

"You're not supposed to like that one because I need to give you some emotional drama." -me

"I don't do emotional drama." -S

"You're doing it right now Mr. Pouty Face. Now stop it, the both of you, and help me stay on track with your real story." -me

"Real story? What are you talking about? This is fan-fiction. You're not even getting us right." -S

"Shut up! This is my fantasy and I can write you how I want."

"Then I can have whatever fantasy first kiss I want with Sherlock too." -J

"Hmph! Fine, just…do it over there in the corner and stop side-tracking me." -me

"But genius needs an audience." -S

"That was hardly…"-me

"That was a brilliant kiss wasn't it" -J

"Yes, you were quite brilliant." -S

"Do you want more?" -J

"Oh god yes." -S

*rolls eyes* -me


End file.
